


The World of Spring and Autumn

by irisbleufic



Series: Configured Stars [5]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alliances, Alternate Season/Series 04, Alternate Season/Series 05, Arkham Asylum, Asexual Character, Asexuality Spectrum, Bickering, Brothers, Canon-Typical Violence, Consensual Kink, Dark Comedy, Deception, Demisexual Character, Demisexuality, Disability, Do not translate without permission or copy to another site/app, Escape, Established Relationship, Existential Angst, F/F, Family Drama, Gotham Sirens, Hiding, Humor, Intersex Character, Intrigue, Jerome Valeska Lives, Kink Negotiation, Look At Your Life Look At Your Choices, M/M, Mad Science, Neurodiversity, Nonbinary Character, Other, Plotting, Post-Apocalypse, Resurrection, Reunions, Reveal, Sibling Rivalry, Siblings, The Rogues Gallery (Batman), Trans Character, Twins, Vendettas, Villains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:40:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22822681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisbleufic/pseuds/irisbleufic
Summary: When they approached the back entrance to Celestial Garden, the team standing guard didn’t know what to do. Jerome supposed that a dead man and a masked stranger with their guns out and hands in the air weren’t a common sight even in this hellscape.“I told you,” Five repeated after about a minute of several guns being pointed at them. “Jeri knows me. I used to work at the Foxglove. And I shouldn’t have to explain Jerome.”“Oh, but youshouldexplain why he isn’t dead,” said a voice behind them. “Also, kid, I don’t know you. Just ’cause maybe I’ve seen you before doesn’t make us best friends.”“Look, I already said this on TV the first time,” Jerome scoffed. “Being dead is the worst.”“So you just…don’t stay dead?” Jeri asked, pushing back her balaclava. “Don’t look shocked. I came around from the front. No magic tricks here.”Jerome patted himself down and shrugged. “I mean, seems that way. I feel pretty real to me.”
Relationships: 514A & Bruce Wayne, 514A & Jerome Valeska, 514A/Jerome Valeska, Alfred Pennyworth & Bruce Wayne, Ecco/Ivy Pepper (Gotham), Edward Nygma & Leslie Thompkins, Hugo Strange & Everyone, Jeremiah Valeska & Bruce Wayne, Jeremiah Valeska & Jerome Valeska, Jeremiah Valeska & Jerome Valeska & Bruce Wayne, Jeremiah Valeska/Bruce Wayne, Jeri & Jerome Valeska, Jim Gordon & Alfred Pennyworth & Bruce Wayne, Jonathan Crane & Jervis Tetch, Oswald Cobblepot & Ivy Pepper, Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma, Selina Kyle & Alfred Pennyworth, Selina Kyle & Alfred Pennyworth & Bruce Wayne, Selina Kyle & Bruce Wayne
Series: Configured Stars [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1388944
Comments: 26
Kudos: 65





	1. Vacant Places

Jerome felt deep satisfaction on leaving Strange’s body where it had fallen. He convinced Five to leave behind the gore-covered poker and follow him back to the function room and living quarters their captors had been using, to see what they could salvage.

“We should tell Penguin,” Five said breathlessly, flushed from the minutes they’d spent kissing.

“I’m not goin’ out of my way to tell him anything,” Jerome said, walking slightly ahead with Zsasz’s gun drawn, “and neither should you. He’ll send his crew back here to snoop, to find out if Tetch and Crane have been dishonest about anything. They’ll find Strange.”

“That’s a good point,” Five said, sounding content to release the responsibility. “I want my clothes. They weren’t great or anything, but they’re better than these…” He gestured at their Arkham uniforms. “Maybe they wouldn’t have kept them.”

“Don’t want mine,” Jerome said distractedly. “Think about the last place I was when I wore ’em.”

“It’d intimidate people, wearing what you were buried in,” Five said, following him into one of the apartments, “but I see your point.” He went to the closet and rummaged. “Tetch.”

“I could make some of that swag work,” Jerome said. “Crane’s stuff would fit you, assuming he wears anything aside from those rags.”

“I want my clothes,” insisted Five, petulantly, and proceeded to ransack the entire apartment.

Somehow, they did find civilian clothes belonging to everyone who’d been captured. While Jerome pieced together something tolerable from Tetch’s and Strange’s closets, Five picked at what looked like a biker jacket with a pleated front and sleeves. It had card-suit symbols stitched into the leather’s patterning, two on each front panel. It looked curiously old-fashioned.

“Bet that belonged to what’s-her-face,” Jerome said, watching Five hold up a long-sleeved black shirt with cut-outs at the neckline and collarbones next. “My bro’s ex…whatever-she-was. Ivy’s girlfriend, but maybe that last claim’s a stretch.”

“Harley Quinn Eccles,” Five said, showing off a wallet he’d found in the jacket’s pocket. “That’s probably why her former alias was Ecco.”

“If there’s nothin’ in the wallet, ditch it,” Jerome told him. “You should wear those, though.”

“The shirt and the jacket?” Five asked almost timidly, which wasn’t like him. “D’you think so?”

Jerome dropped the suit-pieces he’d been gathering and went to Five. He kissed Five’s cheek.

“Yeah,” he said, startled when Five latched onto him. “They’ll look real nice with your jeans.”

“Okay,” Five said quietly, but he sounded happy again. “I want to shower. There’s a real one.”

Jerome’s pulse quickened. “Guess we oughta, uh, take advantage while the water holds out.”

Five was reassuringly no-nonsense about the process, scrubbing them both within an inch of their lives. Jerome felt awkward about how little help he was, at least until Five asked him to wash his hair. He didn’t have a frame of reference for this sort of thing, but it was calming.

Even once they’d rinsed off and the water had gone lukewarm, Five held Jerome there under the spray for a long time. They were both exhausted.

“The bed in the apartment next to this one looked unused,” Five said. “Let’s rest before we go.”

Jerome was surprised at how easy it was to crawl under those normal-looking covers with Five. He scarcely had to think about trading sleepy kisses and pressing their naked bodies together. Five was pliant and easy to please, gasping Jerome’s name. He put his hand on Jerome once he’d recovered—returning the favor, stroking slow and steady until Jerome came.

It was evening by the time they woke up, dressed in what they’d pieced together, and left Arkham behind. Five was armed with a fully-loaded revolver they’d found among Strange’s effects. Jerome stuck with the gun Zsasz had given them.

“This might be shocking even for you,” Five said, staring up at the gates as they passed through.

“What?” Jerome asked, striding into the access road. He wondered if they ought to try hot-wiring one of the two remaining transport vans.

“How the city looks right now,” Five clarified, ambling after him. “I was in the thick of it.”

“Then you’re just the guide I need, princess,” Jerome said. “We’re off to see the Wizard?”

“Not exactly,” Five said, rummaging in the pockets of his hoodie, which he’d put on over the cut-out black shirt as an immediate under-layer to the biker jacket. He put on a black fabric mask that reminded Jerome of Zorro. “I’d suggest we try to find sanctuary at the Foxglove, but they already think I have some kind of contagion—because of the nosebleeds and fever,” he clarified. “Those are gone, thanks to Ivy. There’s one other place we could try. I worked a couple streets away from it. The woman who runs it is a fan of yours.”

“Wonder what the hell’s wrong with _her_ ,” Jerome said, shrugging. “Should we take a van?”

“No,” Five said, drawing his hood over his swept-up hair, quickening his pace. “Safer on foot.”

“That seems counter-intuitive,” Jerome said, panting in an attempt to keep up. “Explain?”

“Vehicles get shot,” Five replied. “On foot, you might get to pass if the people running the territory decide you’re harmless.”

“Something tells me folks aren’t gonna think that about me,” Jerome said. “And _you_ look ten times more dangerous. They’d be right to assume.”

Five took flattery about as well as Jerome would’ve expected. He was devastatingly pretty, even with part of his face obscured and his hair hidden.

“Less talking, more walking,” Five mumbled, but he took Jerome’s hand. “You look handsome.”

It was Jerome’s turn to deflect. “We’re both supposed to be dead. Maybe we should leverage the zombie angle,” he suggested. “Hmmm, nah. Less convincing, given how we’re dressed.”

“I’m telling you,” Five said, cracking a smile, “the suit you left back there would’ve worked. Now you just look like…I don’t know. One of those traveling salesmen with fake medicine and stuff from the nineteenth century. I read about them.”

“Snake-oil wouldn’t be far off the mark with my family history,” Jerome replied. “I’ll take that.”

“We’re also too clean,” Five sighed, not actually sounding like he regretted the shared shower.

Within several hours, it was entirely dark. They made it out of the Docklands and into the Narrows, but not without incident. Unidentified patrollers had shot at them, so they shot back. A bullet had grazed Five’s thigh, but he didn’t even seem mad about it.

“That’s some kinda superpower you’ve got,” Jerome remarked, pressing the pocket square from his borrowed blazer against Five’s injury. He kept them sheltered around the next turn in the alley, panting hard. “You don’t feel it a single bit?”

Five shook his head, but he let Jerome continue to fuss over him. “Two more blocks to go.”

When they approached the back entrance to Celestial Garden, the team standing guard didn’t know what to do. Jerome supposed that a dead man and a masked stranger with their guns out and hands in the air weren’t a common sight even in this hellscape.

“I told you,” Five repeated after about a minute of several guns being pointed at them. “Jeri knows me. I used to work at the Foxglove. And I shouldn’t have to explain Jerome.”

“Oh, but you _should_ explain why he isn’t dead,” said a voice behind them. “Also, kid, I don’t know you. Just ’cause maybe I’ve seen you before doesn’t make us best friends.”

“Look, I already said this on TV the first time,” Jerome scoffed. “Being dead is the worst.”

“So you just…don’t stay dead?” Jeri asked, pushing back her balaclava. “Don’t look shocked. I came around from the front. No magic tricks here.”

Jerome patted himself down and shrugged. “I mean, seems that way. I feel pretty real to me.”

“Hey,” Jeri said, pointing at Five. “You must be the one they tossed out because they’re afraid of the plague or somethin’—not a thing, by the way. I’ve heard about dysentery or some shit, but we ain’t got no Black Death. What the fuck are you doin’ with this smart-ass?”

“We escaped from Hugo Strange after Penguin and his cronies busted the private playground he set up in Arkham,” Jerome said, seeing no reason to lie. “Princess here killed him.”

Jeri burst into maniacal laughter. “Killed Penguin, or killed Strange? That’s a story either way!”

“Strange,” Five said, watching Jeri’s laughter die down. “Jerome shot him, and then I beat him.”

“Wait a sec,” Jeri ventured slowly. “You weren’t service staff. You were security, huh? They said you could take down guys like five times your size.”

Five rolled his eyes, but didn’t remove his mask. “Maybe that’s why they _call_ me Five,” he lied.

“No kidding,” Jeri said, folding her arms in contemplation. “You wanna come work for me?” She shifted her gaze to Jerome next. “Folks around here don’t worship you like they used to, although…comin’ back from the dead a second time’s impressive. Not even the OG J-man did that. Lemme guess, Strange mad-scienced you all over again?”

“I wouldn’t give him that much credit,” Jerome said. “He had some help from this, uh, plant witch.”

“We could make ourselves useful,” Five went on. “Package deal or no deal. Your choice.”

Jerome didn’t know whether to be touched or miffed that Five had made an executive decision.

Jeri just laughed again, jabbing her own gun at Jerome. “Maybe I should ask why you’re with Five here, and not the other way around. Then again, what’d you call him—princess?”

“He calls me lots of things,” Five cut in, aiming his gun at Jeri’s head. “None of your business.”

“It is if I’m takin’ you jokers on,” Jeri countered. “Lovesick kids aren’t a smart investment.”

“We’re not kids,” Five insisted, continuing to speak for both of them, which Jerome had decided he was fine with. “I’m eighteen, and he’s…” 

“Uh, let’s see, twenty-five?” Jerome said. “Kinda. Should we count the time I was on ice, or—”

“Fuck, I forgot you never shut up,” Jeri sighed. “Just…c’mon. Let’s get you two off the street.”

Once they were inside, Jeri led them through a series of increasingly maze-like back halls. 

Jerome didn’t like being reminded of Jeremiah, but he understood the utility of such construction. This place was still hopping, just like the Sirens and the Foxglove. He could feel music pulsing through the club’s walls. He wondered how many people were left who could afford to get in.

“Mi casa es su casa,” Jeri said, showing them into her dressing room. “Got a spare room in my place upstairs, even. You guys better behave, though. I’m riskin’ a lot, keepin’ you here.”

Five sat down on the battered sofa, indicating that Jerome should join him. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I can’t tell if you’re sassin’ me or not,” Jeri mused, taking a seat before her mirror. “So.”

“ _So_ , we can kill anybody you need us to kill,” Jerome said. “Isn’t that right, precious?”

“Yep,” Five agreed, adopting uncharacteristically informal parlance. “But we need to recover.”

Nodding as she considered the bloody graze on the side of Five’s thigh, Jeri sipped her whiskey.

“What do I know,” she said contemplatively. “Maybe folks will be happy to see you after all.”

“There’s no competition now my good-for-nothing bro’s gone,” Jerome agreed. “Rest in pieces.”

Jeri had a dismayed look on her face. She glanced back and forth between Five and Jerome.

“Hate to break it to ya, but Bruce and the wack-job are still kickin’. My scouts saw a helicopter lift off out there the night Wayne Manor went boom.”

Through his white-hot rage, Jerome registered Five’s apology to Jeri before he shifted into Jerome’s lap. Five straddled Jerome, holding him down.

“Don’t think about that now,” he said, stroking Jerome’s face. “Focus. We’re someplace safe.”

“Fine,” Jerome sulked, kissing Five on his sweet mouth, “but if they so much as come back…”


	2. Ribbon Roads

The mattress in Jeri’s spare room was more comfortable than any of the ones they’d used in Arkham. Jerome fell asleep shortly after lying down, so Five turned out the overhead light and joined him.

Jeri had fed them canned soup for dinner. She’d even cleaned and patched up Five’s leg, bitching at Jerome for hovering all the while. She’d said they were pretty damned lucky Five didn’t need stitches, because she sucked at those.

Five realized it felt normal, even domestic, to be cozied up to Jerome in a bed that smelled like dust and fabric softener. He thought about the squat he’d been calling home, wondering if it had been overrun.

He traced the scars on Jerome’s face, neck, and abdomen. The scar on Jerome’s right hand, where Jim Gordon’s second bullet had hit, was paralleled on his left by an older, fainter one. It had the look and texture of a burn-scar.

Whatever the story behind that one was, Five wasn’t inclined to pry. He could wait.

Five woke up to sunlight filtering through the part in the curtains, not even sure when he’d drifted off. Jerome was playing with Five’s hair, which he seemed really fond of doing. Nuzzling Jerome’s neck, Five kissed the knife-scar just because.

“Not gonna lie, precious,” Jerome said. “I could get used to this. Think Jeri’ll let us stay?”

Shrugging, Five tugged Jerome down for a kiss. “Depends how useful she really finds us.”

“Know what felt nice?” Jerome said between presses of their lips, nervousness suggesting he wanted something. He rolled onto his back as he pulled Five with him. “Last night, when you were in my lap, like…”

“This?” Five asked, straddling Jerome, finding that he liked it just as much without the layers of clothing in between them.

“M’glad this wasn’t your job at the Foxglove,” Jerome sighed, lapsing back into a half-doze. “Nobody treatin’ you bad.”

Five nodded in agreement. He braced himself with a palm planted on either side of Jerome’s head so he could shift on top of him, rolling his hips experimentally. He could feel Jerome’s cock against his inner thigh.

“People tried to,” Five admitted, losing his focus the more turned-on he got. “When they thought I was service staff and wanted me to…”

Eyes hazy with desire more intense than Five had ever seen in them before, Jerome slid his palms from Five’s shoulder blades down to the small of his back. He traced the edges of Five’s spinal scar with both sets of fingertips, so tender that Five couldn’t stand it.

“If anybody so much as looked at you wrong,” Jerome said fiercely, “I’ll hunt ’em down.”

“Gonna ride you sometime,” Five panted, overwhelmed. “With…you inside me, if you want.”

Jerome sucked his breath in through his teeth, breathing out through his nose. “Then what?”

“I don’t know,” Five admitted, starting to tremble as Jerome slid his right hand up and over Five’s hip, curling it around Five’s cock. “Maybe I’d only do it after I was inside _you_ first.”

Five might have felt stupid for saying something so reckless—what when he knew he didn’t have the length for hitting the right spot, for making Jerome feel as good as he might—but Jerome groaned urgently enough to put that out of Five’s mind. Jerome didn’t seem to care that Five’s body was different in more ways than one, and, oh, Five _loved_ —

Five squeezed his eyes shut and rocked faster, grinding down until the bed-frame shook. He should’ve known better than to assume this early.

“Princess, gah, _fuck_ ,” Jerome was babbling. “That’s really, really good. I’m so lucky, I’m _so_ …”

Five gasped, climax seizing him so sharply that the next sound he made was almost a scream.

Jerome was a lot quieter than usual when he came, but Five hadn’t seen it last this long before.

“Did you know there’s this thing called manners?” Jeri said when they straggled out to breakfast.

Five couldn’t look at her. He focused on pouring cereal, deciding he’d let Jerome field this one.

“I might’ve heard of it,” Jerome said, mixing some of the powdered milk with water for Five.

“Anyway,” Jeri went on, “I asked the guys how they think you’d go over downstairs. They tell me I’d have a riot on my hands. That kinda disorder is lethal in these conditions. I can’t just let you roam around the club, but I can’t toss you back in the streets, either.”

“Big shock there,” Jerome muttered, helping himself to the cereal. “Doesn’t surprise me any.”

“We don’t need to stay long,” Five said, finally glancing up. “Only until we figure out a plan.”

“Well, sure,” Jeri agreed, watching them eat with a guilty expression. “I’m no miracle worker.”

“You won’t have us more than a few days,” Five said bitterly, realizing the swift rejection was having a worse effect on Jerome than it was on him. “If what you said last night is true, we have bigger things to worry about. They won’t stay away if they’re alive. Not for long.”

Once Jeri had gone downstairs to start operations for the day, Five confiscated the box of Cheerios, powdered milk, and several cans of soup. He told Jerome to grab their bowls and spoons, as well as the jug of water, which snapped Jerome out of his funk just long enough to get him curious.

“What the fuck are we…” Jerome glanced around the spare room once Five locked the door behind them, appearing to register why the private bathroom was useful. “Aha.”

“I don’t want to deal with Jeri if she’s going to be like that,” Five explained, setting out their impromptu haul of supplies. “Let’s just stay in here for a few days until we know what to do.”

“Or at least until your leg looks better,” Jerome said, shedding the clothing he’d thrown on to be presentable. “Come back over here.”

Five joined Jerome on the bed, astonished when he was the one who started to cry instead of Jerome. He’d had an idea, and it had backfired. He didn’t know the first thing about surviving in the real world—much less about surviving in a post-apocalyptic real world.

“They did this,” Five sobbed, resisting the urge to pound his fists against Jerome. “Bruce and—and your _idiotic_ brother. I’ll kill them. _I’ll kill them_!”

“ _Shhh_ , precious,” Jerome said. “It’s true, and you should say it.” He took the elastic out of Five’s hair and combed it loose with his fingers. “Let’s think this through. Where did you live before you got stuck at the Foxglove?”

“This awful Docklands squat near the old brewery,” Five sniffed. “I liked living at work better.”

“Sure, but a lot of your stuff’s still at the squat,” Jerome prompted. “Maybe we should go there and regroup, let you grab whatever you need? At least we’d have it to ourselves.”

“Assuming nobody else has claimed it already,” Five mumbled. “I don’t have much anyway.”

Over the next seventy-two hours, Jeri tried her best to draw them out by banging on the door and shouting at them periodically. When they weren’t talking, or eating cereal, or wasting Jeri’s generator-fed hot water supply in the cramped shower, they slept a lot. 

On the fourth morning since Jeri had taken them in, they agreed that setting out for Five’s place was the best shot they had at lying low. They needed a plan for when Bruce and Jeremiah came back. They needed a plan regarding where they fit into this brave new Gotham, full stop.

“This is stupid,” Jeri said, blocking their access to the exit. “If I let you go out there, you’ll get shot. I know you can out-fight and out-crazy just about anyone, but seriously. Neither one of you is in great shape after what Strange did. Saved your lives, sure, but—”

“If I need to earn my way back into your constituency’s graces,” Jerome said, moving her aside and opening the door for Five, “then I think slaying the monsters responsible for this is just the trick, don’t you?”

“Everyone else thinks the monsters are already dead,” Five said dejectedly, traipsing out.

“Captain Jimbo doesn’t think so,” Jeri replied, letting Jerome follow Five into the stairwell. “Latest access to his radio transmissions with the mainland suggests he’s finally suspicious of Lucius Fox’s disappearance. They haven’t found a body, and the dude’s a known Wayne sympathizer. Either Fox died out there, too, or he escaped with ’em.”

“They’re in Europe or somewhere, I bet,” Jerome said. “Enjoying being dead. Well, see ya.”

“I’m gonna start workin’ the crowd, okay?” Jeri promised, waving them off. “There’s plenty of rumors you’ve been sighted. We’ll make a triumphant Messiah of you yet.”

Before Five could grudgingly say goodbye, Jerome added, “Work princess in somehow, or else.”

“You got it,” Jeri said, shoving her balaclava into Jerome’s hands. “Cover your face, though, seriously. If somebody tells Jimbo _your _undead ass is runnin’ around, they’ll be after you for the bounty.”__

__“Zombies,” Five said, tying his mask back in place before putting his hood up. “I’m telling you. Missed opportunity.”_ _

__Jerome wasn’t thrilled that the path to Five’s former residence required them to go back in the direction of Arkham. They stayed close to the river, counting on the fact that anybody in their right mind was probably staying as far from the mined, contaminated water as possible._ _

__Five was concerned about both of them by mid-afternoon. The bandage around his thigh, beneath his damaged jeans, was bleeding through. As for Jerome, he seemed prone to exhaustion no matter how miraculous his resurrected condition._ _

__“There,” Five said, pointing to a warehouse ahead of them. “Doesn’t look occupied. Let’s rest.”_ _

This particular structure was open at both ends, which argued more for its status as an unloading-point than any kind of storage. The open side facing the water led out onto a dock. 

Sliding an arm around Jerome’s waist, Five led Jerome inside. Perplexingly, there was nothing inside except a sizable, tarp-covered shape in one of the corners nearest to the waterfront. Five released Jerome’s hand and approached, tugging the filthy, oversized oilskin away.

“What the hell,” Jerome breathed, the words more than half laughter, “is this?”

Five tried the driver’s side door of the sleek black sports car, startled to find it wasn’t locked. He flopped across the seat and the center console, popping open the glove box. He grabbed the entire bundle of paperwork and manuals. Something had slid down the foot-well into the passenger side, what looked like an ID card and a bunch of keys on a ring, so he fetched that, too.

“Impossible, is what,” Five said, struggling to sit up in the passenger seat. He stared at Bruce Wayne’s likeness on the security badge, handing it out to Jerome, and started flipping through the paperwork.

“Guess they wanted to give the impression they wouldn’t need these wheels anymore,” Jerome said, swinging the loaded key-ring around his finger as he climbed into the driver’s seat. “What were the odds we’d be the ones to find ’em?”

“Same as the odds you and I would meet in the first place,” Five said, eyes tracking over the address in disbelief. “Wayne Manor’s not listed. This says some penthouse in Midtown.”

Jerome took the piece of paper from Five, glancing between that and the security badge.

“Either it’s the best idea I’ve had in ages, or my brain’s still chopped to bits in there,” he said, tapping his temple, “but now I think we should say screw your old place and head _here_ instead.”

Five grinned at him. “I think your brain’s just fine. Ivy’s blood fixed everything else, so why not that?”

Jerome shoved up the balaclava just far enough to expose his mouth. He leaned over and kissed Five, cackling madly.

“D’you mind if I drive?” he asked. “I wanna see if I still _can_.”


	3. Unquiet Water

Jerome could, in fact, still drive—but his reaction time was off. Crossing through two lines of enemy territory to get where they were going meant attempting run down anybody who shot at them, but he only succeeded at hitting one patroller.

The bulletproof car was fast enough to get them away from their pursuers and, ultimately, to the tower.

Jerome covered them with Zsasz’s gun while Five punched the elevator button repeatedly, frustrated when nothing happened. He finally smashed the security badge against it, and gasped to see it glow. They got into the elevator.

“This place has its own power source,” Five said, “and we’re the only ones who can get in and out.”

Jerome yawned. This shit where he didn’t have the same stamina as before was frustrating. “How, uh…are…”

“I’m doing okay,” Five said, realizing Jerome was staring at his bloody bandage. “Promise.”

“With any luck, Brucie will have all the first-aid kits we can…use? I was gonna say eat. That oughta be enough proof right there,” Jerome sighed circling his index finger next to his head. “Bats in the belfry.”

“I don’t care,” Five insisted, watching the lit-up numbers halt at their floor. “They can stay.”

Jerome couldn’t think about anything except how unfairly accepting Five was. He let Five drag him down the hall.

“What’s that sound?” Five asked, halting once they stepped inside the penthouse. “Like static.” 

“Well, it’s comin’ from that-a-way,” Jerome said, dragging Five forward, “so let’s find out.”

In the largest of the two bedrooms, they found a complicated radio setup on a kitchen trolley. Next to that, the sprawling bed was unmade. There was just enough dust when Five lifted the corner of the skewed sheet to suggest nobody had touched it since…

“They were here,” Jerome said, glowering at the DIY radio. “Who d’you think made that, huh?”

“I’m guessing Jeremiah,” Five said, flipping one of the rumpled pillows over, frowning. “Ew.”

Entirely disturbed at the thought of what Five was finding the more closely he studied the bedclothes, Jerome focused on the radio. The static wasn’t so loud as to be intrusive. It was steady, like it was just waiting for noise to break through the signal.

“That’s set to the same bandwidth as Jeri’s radio,” Five pointed out. “It means they patched into Gordon’s transmissions.”

“I don’t even know what’s keeping this thing running,” Jerome said. “Not even plugged in.” He took hold of the cart, starting to pull it toward the door. “We’re not sleepin’ in here, princess. We’re gonna take this show to the guest-room.”

Five went over to the bookshelf, frowning at the very obvious empty slots on one shelf, and then over to the closet. He slid the door open.

“You’re not gonna like this, but we do have clothes that’ll fit,” Five said. “I’ll get these while you take care of that. We need to find food next.”

“We’ve got a hideout,” Jerome said, huffing as he pulled the cart. “We’ve also got wheels—until somebody shoots a hole in the gas tank.”

“Or steals the car,” Five said, his arms heavy-laden with hangers upon hangers of shirts, blazers, sweaters, and trousers. “Anybody can walk into the garage, but at least they can’t make the elevator work. I’m sure people have tried.”

“We don’t really need it,” Jerome said, impressed at how effortlessly Five kept up with him as they transferred their loads to the untouched smaller bedroom. “But we should take one more spin, maybe raid whatever places we can think of.”

“Bruce’s clothes are boring,” Five mumbled into the chin-high pile of garments he carried.

Jerome situated the radio cart next to the pristinely-made bed, and then helped Five put the clothes away. He tugged Five close once they were finished. He pushed the biker jacket and the hoodie off Five’s shoulders, let Five’s hair down, and studied how he looked in the black shirt.

“Somethin’ tells me you don’t dress like Brucie, do you,” Jerome said cautiously.

Eyes lowered, Five slowly shook his head. “No. There’s…there are things at my place I wish I had here,” he said quietly. “Things I’d…wear for work.”

Jerome thought maybe he understood now. He’d started to wonder when Five had been wistfully examining Harley’s clothes back at Arkham, and had only taken the shirt and jacket when Jerome suggested they’d suit him.

“What d’you wear for work, precious?” Jerome asked, tilting Five’s chin up. He kissed the corner of Five’s mouth. “Paint me a picture.”

“Skirts, sometimes,” Five said, bolder now. “Fishnets. Camisoles, sheer…tops, I don’t know what to call them. I got a dress not too long ago, it’s…”

Imagining Five dolled up, comfortable in his clothes and his skin— _that_ was something.

“Then we’ve gotta get your stuff,” Jerome said, willingly dragged along when Five started to inch them toward the bed. “New stuff, too. Better stuff. How much you wanna bet those swanky department stores Uptown stopped bein’ a priority to raiders?”

“Yes,” Five gasped, going down when he hit the edge of the mattress, hauling Jerome with him.

“Just tell me, sweet pea,” Jerome said, forcing himself to take his time with removing Five’s jeans. Even if Five couldn’t feel his injury, they could still do it further damage if they weren’t careful. “M’gonna do whatever you ask me to do.”

“Really?” Five panted, propped up on his elbows. “Like, do you mean…in bed? Anything?”

“I mean anywhere,” Jerome said, rucking up the shirt. He settled, bending to reverently kiss Five’s exposed belly. “Just say the word.”

Five narrowed his eyes slightly, but not in the same cruel way he had when he’d heard Strange’s parting shot. He tilted his head.

“Use your mouth,” Five said, tangling his right hand in Jerome’s hair before yanking hard.

Jerome was going to have fun overthinking what the fuck it meant that being ordered around was just about as hot as when they’d given each other those vicious bites the other evening. He decided to push back, to see just how much Five would enjoy keeping him in line.

“ _Mmm_ ,” Jerome said, nuzzling the damp front of Five’s underwear. He licked Five through the thin cotton, mouthing over the shape of him. “Lemme guess, you’ve got fancy, uh—” ridiculous, what he couldn’t bring himself to say “—lingerie, too?”

Five nodded, worrying at his lower lip. “Not very much of it. I haven’t really…gotten to that?”

“Pretty baby,” Jerome sighed, sitting up so he could tug the boxer-briefs off Five, “we’re gonna get you _so_ much nice stuff. Just you wait.”

“I didn’t tell you to remove those,” Five cautioned, but there was enough levity underlying his coy, commanding tone to be reassuring. “But I gave you conflicting orders.” He tightened his fingers in Jerome’s hair again, forcing him back down. “Do it.”

There were so many things for Jerome to wonder about—why he wasn’t hard yet, why it didn’t matter because Five’s tone made him flush all over, why his head was fuzzy with the same kind of contentment that had overridden his usual disdain for this sort of thing the first time they’d slept together. The only thing he cared about was the sound Five made when he swallowed him, _all_ of him, without warning.

“Fuck,” Five said, struggling to form words between breathy gasps. “Jerome, it feels like— _fuck_.”

Jerome pulled off just long enough to draw another curse. “Wanna make you come,” he rasped.

Five didn’t even try to hold back. He tried to stifle his scream just like he’d done at Jeri’s place, but it didn’t work. His fingers tightened in Jerome’s hair again, both hands this time, but all he did was guide Jerome’s head back down so Jerome’s cheek brushed against him.

“FYI, I _was_ gonna swallow,” Jerome murmured. He rubbed his cheek against Five instead, taking most of the slight mess there. Actually, it was startling how slight. Jerome had been the one to blame for the worst of it during their encounters, nobody but himself to blame.

Five pressed at Jerome’s shoulders until Jerome slid up the length of Five’s body to kiss him. Five worked a warm hand inside Jerome’s pants.

“Want me to?” he asked earnestly, eyes catching the light at an angle that stole Jerome’s breath.

Jerome groaned, pushing into the touch. “Darlin’, do anything you can stand. That’s— _yeah_.”

“Yeah?” Five asked, his breath hot against Jerome’s lips. “Hey, so just—no, roll over like—”

They were laughing by the time Jerome got situated. Five used the distraction to get his sweet mouth on Jerome so fast it wasn’t fair. He flattened his palms against Jerome’s hipbones, fingertips finding and massaging into spots that nearly felt better than what Five’s tongue was doing.

Jerome had only ever experienced bliss in the form of pain. This was different. He closed his eyes on the ecstatic sting.

“Five, you— _fuck_ , d’you even know what you do to—stop, I’m, fuck, _I’m_ —”

Five stiffened in surprise, but that was his only reaction when Jerome came.

“Fuck’s a bad nickname,” he teased, crawling up to lie beside Jerome, watching Jerome catch his breath. “I’m not calling you that.”

They fell into a routine that had no consistency except that they did whatever they wanted. There was enough food to be foraged from both Bruce’s penthouse and other abandoned residences in the building that they were set for about a solid seven days of being indolent in bed. 

Mostly, when they weren’t sleeping, they kissed and talked, plotted and watched DVDs. Sex had its stops and starts as they settled into each other, each livid bruise and artfully-placed cut an unvoiced wish. Fitting, that they had found this only in cheating death.

They managed three more raids before the car was so dangerously low on fuel that it wasn’t worth getting stranded somewhere too far from the tower. Out of necessity, they were sparing with bullets. Those, they needed for when Bruce and Jeremiah finally dared show their faces, whether it was months or years away—or for when they got tired of existing. Hard to say.

Jerome told Five, worshipfully, that looked like the princess he was in metallic eye-shadow and mascara as coal-black as the couture dresses they’d pilfered from around the city. Five smiled at Jerome with his precisely-tinted lips and lost his last traces of shame.

Five told Jerome, constantly, that he was handsome in his pale suits, vibrantly-shaded shirts, and garish ties. Jerome realized that smiling wasn’t always what the compliments demanded, gracing Five with the kind of glances he’d never dreamed he’d want to give.

They caught several broadcasts over Jeremiah’s inscrutable radio, usually late at night or in the early hours of dawn. Satisfying, to hear Jim at wits’ end. Troubling, to hear him make vague allusions to chasing a handful of unbelievable rumors and promising leads.

About a month on, the fourth broadcast roused Jerome from dreamless sleep. Five was already awake, his chin tucked over Jerome’s shoulder.

 _You’ve got to be kidding, mate,_ said a voice Jerome would’ve been happy to never hear again, mid-conversation. _Somebody’s taking the piss._

“That’s Alfred,” Five said pensively, raking his fingers through Jerome’s hair. “He was kind to me.”

Jerome nodded, pulse kicking up a thrilled notch as he heard Jim say, _Cards on the table._

 _Fine_ , snapped Alfred. _Fox is here with me, alive. So is Selina. The boys are alive, too, but I’ll be damned if I tell you where they are._

 _I see your pair and raise you_ , said Jim. _We interrogated a bouncer who works for that nightclub owner in the Narrows. Jerome was there around four weeks ago, alive. Even worse, he’s been running around the city with just about the last person you and Bruce would’ve wanted him to find._

 _Then it’s your funeral, Jim,_ Alfred warned, _what happens as soon as I tell mine._


	4. Polished Stone

Five didn’t sleep for the rest of that night. The transmission had been a wake-up call, and a nasty one.

Jerome had dozed off not long after Alfred and Jim went off the air. His peaceful slumber was enviable.

Admittedly, Five wanted Jeremiah and Bruce dead, too—not just for the pain they’d caused Jerome, but for what they’d permitted to happen to the city. Without the crisis of isolation, Strange wouldn’t have been able to do what he’d done to them.

On the other hand, what Strange had done to them was the only reason either one of them was currently alive.

They spent the next week doing anything _but_ discuss it. Jerome hated to push Five when he was stressed, and Five didn’t want to ruin Jerome’s revenge fantasies. He spent a lot of time reading in the bedroom while Jerome scrawled in a blank notebook he’d found.

After too many restless nights, over breakfast, Five told Jerome Alfred’s threat was legitimate. He wouldn’t fight in Bruce’s war, but he’d facilitate.

“That’s not what he meant, sweet pea,” Jerome said, kissing Five’s temple as he set tea in front of him. “The worst Bruce’ll do is punch either of us in the face given a chance, but what d’you expect from a guy who didn’t think twice about turning his public works project into a terrorist strike?”

“We’re going to need, like, Penguin levels of weapons,” Five said, pushing his toast around.

Jerome sat down and shoved half a piece of toast in his mouth. “Guess we shoulda told Birdbrain we got Strange. He might’ve paid up.”

“From his perspective, he already has. Spared us in exchange for Strange’s head on a pike.”

“If you’d left anything _to_ put out on one,” Jerome reminded him, grinning wolfishly.

“Might be worth a shot, though,” Five said, sipping his tea in order to hide how furiously he was blushing. “We’d have to put out feelers.”

“We’ve got some choice intel, princess. That’s probably worth a couple of bazookas at least.”

“Ranged weapons,” Five agreed. “If we catch them on the approach, we might not have to leave the building. Machine guns, too. Bullets, grenades.”

“No wonder you’re the girl of my dreams,” Jerome sighed. “Hey, how likely is it that your old boss at the Foxglove does business with Oswald?”

“I never saw him at the club, which makes me think Lucy didn’t have use for him. Then again…” Five finished a piece of toast, trying to recall the gossip he’d heard. “The Sirens. _They_ deal with Penguin.”

“Well, hey,” Jerome cackled gleefully. “Guess we know what we’re doin’ tonight.”

They dressed in the finest of what they’d scavenged Uptown. Jerome looked dashing in his dove-grey tailcoat and dark tartan trousers. The canary yellow shirt and black-and-white spiral patterned tie, which Five adjusted with exacting care, suited him.

“C’mere,” said Jerome, after watching Five try to button up the back of his sheer-sleeved, knee-length tulle dress. He finished the job for Five and spun him around, taking a curiously endearing moment to fix a smudge of mascara on Five’s cheekbone.

Five sat on the edge of the bed while Jerome worked on him. After about fifteen minutes, Jerome let him go look in the full-length mirror. The braid around his head was complex, and Jerome had used it to anchor Five’s diamond tiara in place.

“How’d you learn to do that?” Five asked, as stunned as Jerome when he’d seen him remove the grate between their Arkham cells.

Jerome went to fetch the Mardi Gras masks they’d pilfered from a high-end costume shop.

“Mom used to make me do her hair before shows. Boring on the best of days, humiliating on the worst—but I told myself it’d come in handy.”

Five put on his mask, and then put Jerome’s on him. “I don’t like making you cover your face.”

“What with folks talkin’ about us,” Jerome said, “let’s make a grand entrance before we tear ’em off.” He bowed, offering Five his gloved hand.

They loaded their guns to full capacity, and Five stuck a knife in each of his boots.

The Sirens wasn’t that far a walk. It was in what had once been a slightly better neighborhood, positioned strategically between Midtown and the Narrows. Strangely, they had no difficulty blending in with other late-night revelers making their way to the same place.

Five had come prepared for the questions from security on the door— _How you payin’, sweetheart? Got your man under control?_ He yanked Jerome in by his lapels, leaning seductively close before twisting Jerome’s wrist behind his back, forcing him to his knees. 

The leather-clad female assassins looked impressed. The unassuming one said, “Weapons?”

Five reached into Jerome’s inner jacket pocket and pulled out an antique watch chain. “Gold.”

“Fine, go on in,” said the more intimidating of the pair. “Give that to Ms. Kean or Ms. Galavan on the bar. If you don’t, we’ll find out and kill your boy-toy here as you’re leaving. Also, if you shoot the place up or stab anybody, we’ll kill you both.”

Five nodded graciously, winding the chain around his fingers. He hauled Jerome to his feet.

“So, _heh_ ,” Jerome said unsteadily, “how ’bout we revisit your clever stunt later on?”

“You mean when we get home?” Five asked coyly, smiling beneath the cover of his mask.

In the strobe-lit darkness, Five dragged Jerome through the crowd by his tie. Barbara and Tabitha were at opposite ends of the bar.

“I’m supposed to give this to you?” Five said. He dropped the chain on the bar, and Barbara’s eyes followed it down. “We have a question.”

“Who’s _we_?” Barbara asked sarcastically. She looked Five up and down. “Somebody made me dress up like that once. I don’t work for him anymore.”

“I don’t work for anyone,” Five said, tilting his head toward Jerome, whose tie was still wrapped around Five’s hand. “ _He’s_ mine. Anyway, can I ask?”

“Fire away,” Barbara said, distracted by a look Tabitha had shot her from the far end of the bar.

“We need to communicate with Penguin,” Five replied. “Meet with him, preferably. How?”

Tabitha, looking suspicious and interested in the proceedings, approached with her arms folded.

“See the tall redhead and the short blonde with the bad dye-job?” she said. “Go set up your rendezvous, and then get lost.”

“Rude,” Jerome said, the word cut-off and strangled when Five gave his tie a forceful yank.

“Thank you, Ms. Galavan,” Five said, curtseying, and forced Jerome to follow. “Ms. Kean.”

Harley recognized them before they even got close enough to read the glittery slogan on her shirt. She froze, grabbing Ivy’s arm and shaking it.

Ivy intercepted Five and Jerome before they could step under the spinning lights. “What the hell d’you think you’re doing? Where have you _been_?”

Five let Ivy force them out to the shadowed periphery where people stood drinking and talking.

“Busy,” Jerome said, winding both arms around Five’s waist as soon as Five released his tie. “Workin’ on wardrobe, redecorating the fixer-upper…”

“I fuckin’ hope you don’t mean Arkham,” Harley remarked, “unless you moved back in after Penguin’s goons found the present you left.”

“No,” Five said, leaning against Jerome’s chest. “We got a place in Midtown. Listen, there’s information we want to trade for—”

“Holy shit,” Ivy said, staring at something behind Jerome and Five. “You need to _run_!”

Reflexively, Five shed his mask and glanced over his shoulder. He knew Bruce by the way he moved, no full-on stare necessary. The figure in step beside Bruce didn’t move anything like Jerome, but the eerie white skin and cold, glittering eyes were sufficient warning.

“We’ll play interference!” Harley yelled after them. “If this was your tip, Pengy already knew!”

Jerome shed his mask as they shoved their way toward the entrance. The crowd gasped and shouted, parting.

Five drew his knives as they raced toward the door. “Open it for me!” he shouted, not slowing.

“As you wish,” Jerome said, panting hard. He barged right into the door, forcing it outward. 

Plunging one knife in each startled guard’s throat, Five grabbed Jerome’s wrist and tore onward.

“Where, uh,” Jerome panted, using all of his strength not to fall behind, “did you have in mind?”

“Jeri’s,” Five huffed. They’d gotten just enough of a head-start, but Bruce was just as fast as Five remembered. “We’re almost to the Narrows!”

Reaching Celestial Garden felt like a triumph, but only until their backs were to the wall just a few paces from the door. Where were Jeri’s guards?

Bruce was dressed just about how Five would’ve expected, dramatic black coat and mile-long scowl. Jeremiah had lost his fedora during the pursuit, somehow more terrifying for the way his copper hair burned under the single streetlamp fed by Jeri’s generator.

“Gotta say,” Jerome wisecracked, directing the remark at Bruce, moving as if to put himself between Five and Jeremiah, “the gas did him a favor.”

“Jerome, shut up,” Bruce snarled, reeling back a step when Five reversed his position with Jerome’s. “Five,” he greeted cautiously. “I’m not armed.”

“That’s where I come in,” Jeremiah said, his tone deceptively cool and even. He held a gun.

Five forced Jerome fully behind him. He drew his remaining weapon, aiming at Bruce’s heart.

“You bothered to come back,” Jerome said sarcastically, “all because you missed us? _Aw_.”

“Things are bad enough now that Penguin has everyone else working for him,” Bruce said sourly. “We stayed at the precinct a few days, until somebody spotted you earlier tonight. We promised we’d deal with you. Jim has enough problems.”

“I wasn’t keen so on leaving the mainland and its amenities,” Jeremiah deadpanned, “ _but_ —what do you know. The things we’ll do for love.”

Five was sure the only thing that saved them was that Bruce and Jeremiah had no idea where they were. Just another deserted alley, at least until four heavily-armed figures, two filtering in from the parallel streets at each end, closing in until Bruce and Jeremiah were back-to-back.

Meanwhile, the door to the club creaked open. Somebody leaned outside, beckoning wildly.

“Get the hell in here!” Jeri shouted. “Don’t be goddamn martyrs! Let my guys have at ’em!”

Five rushed along the brick wall, pulling Jerome with him. Sounds behind them seemed to indicate Bruce and Jeremiah were fighting the guards.

Jeri didn’t stop walking once the door slammed. She guided them through the same maze as before—but, this time, they took a different turn.

“You guys feelin’ social, by any chance?” Jeri asked. She stood aside while Five and Jerome paused, uncertain what lay beyond the velvet curtain to which she’d led them. “Got some folks who wanna meet you if so.”

Five could feel music pulsing through the walls. He glanced sidelong at Jerome, giving a nod.

Jerome offered Five his arm, face splitting in a grin as Five took it. “Why not?” he said to Jeri.

“Then get in there,” Jeri said fondly. She reached, hauling the heavy velvet wide open for them.

Five had seen a crowd part like this for Jerome before. There were as many awestruck eyes on him, though, as there were on Jerome.

“Now, I know some of you were thinkin’ I might just be a repeat of that Dwight asshole,” Jeri said, having fetched a microphone from somewhere, giving them deferential berth, “but don’t you feel ashamed? Here’s your Prince _and_ Princess, O ye of little faith!”

“Jerome,” Five said in Jerome’s ear, leaning as close as he could so he’d be heard over the din of the jubilant crowd, pleased to feel Jerome shiver at the warmth of his breath. “I _think_ ,” he wavered, summoning courage, “I might love you.”  
  
Jerome turned to Five with a smile Five had never seen before. Hushed, but not a secret.  
  
“Know what, precious?” he said, taking Five’s hands, bending down on one knee. “You too.”


End file.
